


All Of Your Days Will Be Blesssed

by casinoquality



Category: Little Free Library - Naomi Kritzer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casinoquality/pseuds/casinoquality
Summary: The egg hatches.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	All Of Your Days Will Be Blesssed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveradept](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept/gifts).



> A hundred thank yous to my wonderful beta, Mouse.

It was Summer when the egg hatched, a mere month after Meigan had brought it inside, wrapped it in a woollen scarf made by her late beloved grandmother and carefully tucked it on her favourite bookshelf.

She was cleaning her kitchen, a task not made easier by the oppressive heat, when she heard a loud crack coming from her living room.

She had long ago given up her idea that her mysterious correspondent was simply an eccentric artist, or dedicated prankster, but accepting that there was likely some magic entity out there was not the same as being prepared for the sight of a glowing egg. It had grown larger, pushing the lid from the box and rapidly becoming too big to be held in it.

Panicking, Meigan quickly crossed the room and lifted the egg from the box, hissing as she realised it was incredibly hot to the touch. She gently placed it on her favourite armchair and in the space of a heartbeat, the egg cracked down the centre and split open. A great burst of light filled the room, growing brighter and brighter until Meigan had to close her eyes.

When she opened them again, there was _someone_ sitting in the armchair. They were made up entirely of light, roughly taking the shape of a child with no features. They seemed to tilt their head, studying Meigan with the same sense of curiosity that Meigan studied them.

Just as she had made up her mind to try and speak to them, the being seemed to grow brighter again. But when the light faded this time, it left behind a child.

A human child.

One that looked suspiciously like Meigan herself had, when she’d been a toddler her mother could hardly keep track of.

The child held up their arms, little fingers curled in towards their palms, attempting to scoot forwards with their legs. Before they could topple over the edge of the chair, Meigan scooped them up in her arms, and now, with the child suddenly so close to her face, Meigan could see that their ears were slightly pointed, their pupils not quite round.

They reached out a chubby fist and placed it on Meigan’s face, studying her as fiercely as she was studying them.

“Oh no.” Meigan whimpered.  
  


* * *

Googling ‘what to feed a fae child’ was exactly as unhelpful as she imagined it would be, but she had done it anyway, in the first rush of panic that had come with realising she was now guardian to something small and helpless and probably not human.

By all appearances, she was a normal human baby. Perhaps one or so, although Meigan wasn’t an expert on child development. After the initial panic, Meigan had managed to get herself together enough to walk them both down to the local store to pick up diapers, wipes and formula, as well as as many jars of baby food as she could carry home.

The little girl took the entire trip in with delight, fascinated with everything that happened around her.

It was almost enough to convince her that she was a normal human baby, right up until she had reached out for some shrubbery as they passed on the return trip home and the shrubbery had _reached back_.

Meigan had hurried them into the house as quickly as possible after that.

Now, the girl lay happily on the floor, safely diaper-clad and shaking around a small soft plush completely unaware of the breakdown her new guardian was having three feet away.

“Okay,” Meigan announced after long minutes staring at a useless google search screen “We’re going to try some baby food and go from there.”

* * *

Several days later, Meigan woke suddenly in the middle of the night.

There was a crib beside her bed, one of the better ones on the market, safe mesh sides and kept free of clutter and extra blankets, just like the guides said. Several toys littered the floor around it, and an empty car seat box sat stacked up against the wardrobe.

Meigan stared at the sleeping child – who slept straight through the night, unlike any infant or toddler Meigan has ever heard of – as the realisation that had pulled her from sleep formed together.

“You’re going to need a _name_.”  
  


* * *

She never stopped hoping for another letter, or even just a sign that the correspondent wasn’t hurt or dead, that they were alive out there, that they would return. Or perhaps even answer some very pressing questions she had about raising a child who could turn a small seedling into a towering plant within the space of minutes.

But nothing came.

Still, at the end of every week, she left a little note in her little free library.

The first was simple –

_Her name is Arwen. I thought you might approve.  
  
_

* * *

She calls Meigan “ma” in a soft voice, one that has a tinkling quality to it, like windchimes in gentle wind and stares unnervingly out at the world sometimes, unblinking and unmoving. If she didn’t get to spend her afternoon nap in direct sunlight she was distinctly cranky, and Meigan had a sneaking suspicion she actually needs the light _itself_ and so makes sure the blinds are never shut.

She loved storytime, enthralled by the bright pictures in the children’s books Meigan brought home by the dozen, and wouldn’t sleep unless she was read to first.

It made a small part of Meigan’s heart ache, sometimes, but dwelling on things she couldn’t change never helped. All she could do was protect and raise Arwen to the best of her ability, as she was asked.

* * *

Eventually, it became clear to Meigan that Arwen was going to need to interact with other children.

Unfortunately, explaining to a small child that she was not allowed to make plants grow, or lift her into the air, or do anything except sit there and be plants, is not something they write manuals for.

After some weeks of patient instruction and practice though, Meigan felt almost confident enough to take Arwen to the local park, where a mother’s group had set up an informal play group.

She dressed Arwen in a sturdy pair of overalls and sandals and hoped her smile didn’t look too strained as she approached the group standing near the play equipment.

It was a success. Arwen spent some time playing beside some other children and didn’t do anything Meigan can’t explain to the other parents.

An exhausted Meigan fell into her bed that night, pleased and proud that everything went so well.  
  


* * *

She woke the next morning to a flock of ravens, perhaps twenty of them, spaced around her yard and porch.

None of them moved when she opened her front door; they only lazily hopped out of the way when she stepped into her front garden.

She waved her hands a little, attempting to shoo them off.

If she didn’t know better, she would have said they looked amused.

An excited giggle sounded out behind her and she watched as Arwen came toddling out the front door, hands reaching and fingers grasping the air as she tried to approach every bird at once, unable to choose.

Meigan scooped her up with one arm and waved at the birds with the other.

“She can’t play right now,” she heard herself saying as if from far away, unable to believe that this was her life.

All at once the birds took off, leaving a smattering of black feathers drifting to the ground.

“Buh,” Arwen babbled in delight.

“That’s right, they were birds.” Meigan eyed the sky suspiciously. Perhaps it was a fluke.

Over the next week, a flock of sparrows found their way into her laundry room to flutter around Arwen as she rolled in the warm towels from the drier. An owl perched itself on the windowsill outside her bedroom and watched Arwen sleep the next night. When they made a trip to a local duck pond, the ducks abandoned the several families feeding them to swarm Arwen’s pram, quacking happily.

At this point, Meigan was not even surprised.

* * *

Christmas wasn’t a holiday Meigan had much to do with, before Arwen came into her life.

She had no living family and her friends all lived out of state and working from home meant no true co-workers.

It was perhaps a blessing in disguise, as it had made it so much easier to slip Arwen into her life without a hundred questions she couldn’t answer. While she worried for the future — no birth certificate or identification was going to make school difficult — it had been easy enough to explain Arwen’s appearance as being the result of a distant cousin’s being unable to raise her.

But as the holiday season crept closer, she realised she did have a family now. And perhaps Arwen would enjoy the festivities.

As the weather grew colder, she planned.

A real tree was out of the question; there was no telling what Arwen would manage with that. But a small plastic tree was an instant hit, Meigan took many photos of Arwen laying beneath it in delight, watching the brightly coloured baubles spin and the lights flicker.

A large wreath hung on the door, tinsel along the mantle. Hidden in her closet were several carefully wrapped gifts, most of them book shaped and labelled with Arwen’s name.

Christmas Eve was spent with Arwen curled up on Meigan’s lap, tracing out the images in a picture book of the Nutcracker, eyelids fluttering as sleep claimed her and the light from the warm fire flickered over their skin.

Meigan pressed her face to the top of Arwen’s head, placing a kiss there before reading on.

She knew the world Arwen came from wouldn’t stay away forever. Arwen was the daughter of a queen. She’d read enough to know that meant a simple life wasn’t in the cards. But she could give her these moments, could love her with her whole heart and hope that it would be enough.

* * *

As it always did, Spring came again.

Arwen had grown so much in such a short time that Meigan felt sure it was fae magic, even if the parenting books all said it was normal. She was speaking more, able to run unsteadily on little legs, and had very strong opinions on her own fashion choices.

Birds still followed her, but they kept more of a distance, seeming to understand they risked being chased off with a broom if they didn’t.

It was a balancing act in allowing Arwen to use her abilities with greenery – it was a part of who she was, and Meigan didn’t want to force her to hide or repress it – and keeping her from turning their garden into a monster no man could tame, but Meigan felt she was getting quite good at it.

Still, after a day spent chasing Arwen around the park as she played keep away with a small tomato seedling firmly grasped in her little hands, Meigan was more than ready to collapse into bed after a nice long shower.

She was just pulling back the sheets to climb in, having made sure Arwen was tucked in and safely asleep, when there was the loud bang of the front door slamming open.

Heart in her throat Meigan rushed out of the room, expecting to see it knocked open by the wind, having not been latched properly.

Instead there was a figure in the door, wavering on unsteady feet, shadowed by the dark.

“Librarian,” the figure rasped, and though the voice was deeper, more masculine, Meigan heard the same tinkling under echo she heard in her daughter’s voice every day.

He stepped forward, braced himself against the door frame, and then she could make out his features.

His ears were pointed like every elf she had ever read about and his bright green eyes were wide and frightened. The pupils were slitted exactly like a cat. His hair was dark and long, hung about his face messily, dirt smudged on his forehead and cheeks. There was a dark green smear across his chin and she realised suddenly that it was blood.

More of it was dripping onto her timber floors from an unseen wound on his arm, and he held the other across his midsection, the clothing there torn and ragged.

“Librarian,” he said again, his voice quieter this time and Meigan sprung forward to help him, guiding him to the couch so he could lay down.

“Please,” he whispered, and she could see he was having trouble focusing on her face as he struggled to hold onto consciousness “the child, is she safe?”

“She is, I promise, she sleeps in the next room” Meigan said, finding by the end of her sentence he was no longer awake.

She stared at the battered being before her and a dozen emotions welled up in her at once, threatening to overwhelm her and send her into a panic.

She took a deep breath, then another, and opened the first aid box.

First things first.


End file.
